


Thanks for the Memories

by sinclairsolutions



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Crude Sexual Banter, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, References to Shepard (Mass Effect)'s Death, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mentions of Kaidan Alenko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinclairsolutions/pseuds/sinclairsolutions
Summary: Nothing about Zaeed was kind. He was crude and mean and, if Shepard was honest, a nastier son of a bitch than even mercenary life warranted. But he was honest and uncomplicated, and in the absence of any other stability, Shepard would take what he could get.
Relationships: Zaeed Massani/Male Shepard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Quiet Life Bingo Fills





	Thanks for the Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the "One Night Stand" square for a small bingo challenge, my first Mass Effect fic, and also my first completed smut! Featuring ME2 Shepard and Zaeed, because my Shepard totally had a fling with him and I was dying to set it to paper ;) Enjoy! I certainly enjoyed writing it--Zaeed is an *ass* but that makes him so much fun to write.
> 
> Thank you so much to Bready for beta reading, and Rem for encouraging me! You're wonderful!

“ _ Zaeed _ .” Shepard liked to think he was too proud to beg, but that was a lie. When Finch had been the one with the red sand and the credits to pay for it, he’d begged until his voice had broken for one more hit, one more shot at the biotics he’d never have without an implant. On Horizon, he’d begged Kaidan to come with him, and when he’d been refused, he’d locked himself in his cabin and begged with whiskey on his tongue for his memories to be silent. And he was begging now, too, on his stomach on Zaeed’s cot with a cock in his ass and his own hand between his legs. “Zaeed— _ fuck _ ,” he gasped, and Zaeed, the fucking bastard, had the audacity to  _ laugh _ , full-throated and rough with his breath hot on Shepard’s spine. But he seemed too close to the edge himself to draw it out; he grabbed Shepard’s hips and yanked him back with enough force to make him yelp, more fucking Shepard onto his cock than doing any thrusting himself. And maybe Shepard could have been indignant about being used like a fucking fleshlight, or complained that his knees were starting to burn from being dragged so roughly across the canvas. But shit, he couldn’t have cared less about any of that—he cared for nothing but but the orgasm slamming into him with all the force of a biotic charge. He cried out as pleasure overtook him, and for one blissful moment that was all there was: there were no Collectors any longer, no Cerberus, no Staff Commander Alenko and the disappointment in his wide brown eyes. There was only the ecstasy of his release, his back pressed to Zaeed’s chest, the other man’s nails digging into his hips as he followed Shepard over the edge.

Of course, it didn’t last. The red sand never had, and the Minagen-enhanced biotics hadn’t, and this high was no different. Shepard rested his forehead on his arms as his breath returned to him, and with it the sinking feeling of regret that always followed the comedown. It reminded him of Earth, a hundred hazy mornings spent with the dust still lingering in his throat, pretending he wasn’t already itching for more as his ill-gotten biotics died on his fingertips. It wasn’t so different from the way he shuddered as Zaeed pulled out, Shepard’s cock giving a valiant twitch at the sensation while his rational brain reminded him what an idiotic move it had been to let Zaeed cum inside him.

Nothing he could do about it now, he supposed. He rolled over and settled onto his side facing the door, and the cot was so small that he only narrowly missed the wet spot he’d left on it. Zaeed sat on the edge of it, unbothered by his nakedness, his weight drawing Shepard’s legs toward him until his knees bumped Zaeed’s ass. If Zaeed noticed, he didn’t react. In one hand he held a cigar, already lit, and with the other he reached back and gave Shepard’s flank a hearty smack with his open palm; Shepard wasn’t sure whether he should be offended by it until the hand returned, squeezing until the sting subsided. “...Thanks,” Shepard offered, for lack of anything better to say.

The smoke puffed out from Zaeed’s mouth in short bursts as he chuckled, and Shepard thought he heard something like, “Fucking  _ mess _ ,” escape his mouth on the exhale. He turned to regard Shepard with the shit-eating grin still plastered over his face, appraising the bites and scratches he’d left in his wake before pausing with his eyes fixed on Shepard’s shoulder. “Terrible goddamn ink, too.”

He wasn’t wrong. The design had never been anything special, a shitty gang tat with an equally shitty artist behind it, and there wasn’t much left of the thing anymore but the faint suggestion of a red streak across Shepard’s skin. If not for what remained of the crude outline, it might have been mistaken for a sunburn. “Let’s see how yours look after you hit atmo.”

Zaeed scoffed. “Be honest, Shepard: that thing looked like shit the second it was done.”

It had—the point of the whole exercise had been to mark him as one of the Reds, not to lay down any art worth looking at—but Zaeed didn’t need the ego boost for getting it right. “Maybe so,” was all Shepard gave him, with a non-committal half-shrug for good measure.

He thought that would be the end of it, but Zaeed was still studying him, running a calloused thumb over the tattoo and pressing down into the skin like he expected to feel something give beneath him. “Hit atmo, and there’s anything left?” he mused. “Goddamn, but whoever did it must’ve really drilled you.”

He had, in more ways than just the one, but Shepard was in no particular hurry to bring that up. “The guy was a decent hacker,” he said instead. “Should’ve stuck to that. None of the halfway decent tattooists wanted to do gang tats, though, so he’s what we got.”

Zaeed made a short humming sound in the back of his throat, as if he understood that story well enough. He’d probably resent Shepard calling the Blue Suns a gang, but he’d also probably seen his fair share of terrible renditions of its logo on its members’ skin—if it weren’t for the memory of Vido’s escape still fresh in both their minds, Shepard might have been tempted to ask. “You know,” he said, and then took a long drag from his cigar, “most people with any sense would’ve lasered it once they got out.”

Shepard had enough sense to catch the jab, at least, and also enough to know Zaeed was probably right. “Thought I’d feel naked without it,” he said, and then after pondering it for a moment, he added, “I do feel naked without it.” The moment of vulnerability made him flush, and he hoped the smoke between them had grown too thick for Zaeed to notice. Zaeed wasn’t a man to be vulnerable with. Naked with his ass in the air, sure, but not vulnerable. Not like… 

“You want my advice?” Zaeed’s voice snapped Shepard to awareness before that train of thought could leave the station. “Next time we’re on the Citadel, find somebody with an ounce of fucking talent in the wards to cover it up. Some Alliance shit—big N7, maybe. Can’t take that away from you if they court-martial you.”

They probably would, too, once all this was over. Desertion, maybe, or treason, or even espionage if the Alliance decided to be picky about his communication with Anderson. Either way, he’d end up a Category 6 for sure, and from there it was a short step into the arms of whatever mercenary group would have him. It wasn’t the way Shepard had pictured his career ending—then again, he supposed it was equally likely to end the moment he passed through the Omega-4 relay. The reminder of his mission sapped whatever remained of that post-orgasm calm, and he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long sigh. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“What?”

Shepard scrubbed a hand over his face, then sat up and faced Zaeed, his forearms resting on his knees. “We’re going into some shit, Zaeed,” he said. “Collectors, Reapers, whatever’s beyond the Omega-4 relay. It’s gonna be rough. I need to know I can count on you to follow orders out there so we can all come back from it.”

“Think I’ll second-guess you because I know what you look like when you cum on my cock?” Zaeed leered at the mess he’d left between Shepard’s legs, then laughed, boisterous and irreverent, and Shepard felt the distinct urge to punch him until he continued, as if it should have been obvious, “Shepard, Cerberus is payin’ me a whole lotta credits to follow your orders  _ out there.  _ Far as I’m concerned, fucking you in here don’t make a lick of goddamn difference.”

It wasn’t a kind sort of reassurance, but then again, nothing about Zaeed was kind. He was crude and mean and, if Shepard was honest, a nastier son of a bitch than even mercenary life warranted. But he was honest and uncomplicated, and in the absence of any other stability, Shepard would take what he could get. They all would, with the stakes of their mission so high.

He gathered his pants and vest in silence while Zaeed sprawled out naked on the cot, watching him with a keen eye and a grin, his hand darting out to smack Shepard’s ass when he got too close. “Keep that up, see if I take you groundside again,” Shepard chastised him, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he said it, so when Zaeed replied, “Ah, fuck you, you know you love it,” he didn’t suppose he could argue.

“...I meant it, you know,” he said instead as he stood in the doorway, only now noticing that he’d left his shirt slung over the weapons bench. “Thanks.”

“You mean all the stupid shit you say, that’s your whole fuckin’ problem,” Zaeed fired back. The muscles in his neck flexed as he took a deep drag, then blew out the smoke in a thin line above his head. “But you come by here any goddamn time you like, Shepard.”

“I’ve never made a habit of sleeping with my crew,” Shepard replied, and closed the door behind him.

He left the shirt where it was, though.


End file.
